


Always By Your Side

by AnotherNamelessGhoul



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Food Poisoning, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherNamelessGhoul/pseuds/AnotherNamelessGhoul
Summary: Taking care of Jaskier after he falls ill, Geralt has a sudden terror about how fragile humans can be. Death is the one monster that he can't defeat (even if Jaskier is fine this time, if a bit unwell.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 603





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt cast another glance behind him, eyeing his bardic companion. He had noticed over the course of the day that the usual near constant chatter and song behind him had petered out into nothing but the sound of Roach's hooves. The quiet wasn't unwelcome, necessarily, but it was starting to get worrisome.

"Nothing of note to compose about today?" He asked, watching Jaskier. The bard looked tired and wan, scuffing his feet as he walked. He jumped at the sound of Geralt's voice, and it took him a beat longer than it should have to reply.

"Not particularly, I suppose." And the fact that he left it at that and didn't say anything more was more worrying to Geralt than anything. Geralt let them walk for another ten minutes or so, long enough that Jaskier wouldn't immediately think that their stopping was because of him. If he assumed the stopping was because of him he would have vehemently insisted that he was fit to continue, and as far as Geralt could tell, he looked half ready to drop.

"Say we set up camp here for the night?" He said, tugging Roach to a stop and hopping down.

"Isn't it another few hours to dark?"

"Maybe an hour, but this place seems secure. I could use the rest."

Another worrying thing was that Jaskier didn't protest or ask anything further, just nodded and went about setting up camp with relief written on his face. Definitely something strange afoot. Geralt made a note to keep watch of him without making it obvious that he was doing so and began to unhook and spread out their bedrolls, tightly side by side as always. As soon as camp was made and a campfire was crackling merrily in the center, Jaskier bid a rather quiet goodnight to the Witcher and curled up wrapped around himself. He was asleep within minutes, and Geralt sat awake for some time, half watching him and half lost in his own thoughts. Eventually after the sun died completely he lay down himself.

Some time later, what must have been hours but still long before dawn, Geralt's heightened senses caught some sort of sound, some movement, and he snapped awake, staring into the darkness, lit only by the dying embers of the campfire. Jaskier had risen and was stumbling away from their camp in what seemed like a hurry. Geralt took up a lantern from their bags and, without even bothering to lace his boots, started out after him.

"Jaskier?" He called. Jaskier didn't respond, didn't seem to have heard. He braced himself on a tree some 20 feet from camp, bent over double and pressed one arm across his stomach. He finally caught sight of the light of Geralt's lantern and tried to straighten himself, as if afraid to lose dignity. Geralt shook his head.

"If you need to vomit then vomit," he said, "best get whatever it is that turned your stomach out of your system."

Jaskier shook his head. Geralt wasn't sure if he was denying his need to throw up or telling Geralt to leave, but he fought against his own body for another few moments before losing the fight and retching hard. He bent in half with the force of it and Geralt moved around behind him and pressed a hand between his shoulder blades, an uncharacteristically tender act as he rubbed the spasming muscles there. Jaskier dry heaved a few more times and then brought up everything he'd put into his system since the day before, dropping to his knees with the force of it. Geralt braced a hand around his stomach, half in comfort and half fearing that he'd fall forwards into his own sick if someone didn't hold him up. Tears streamed down Jaskier's face and he gulped for air around the heaves until they finally subsided. He went limp and Geralt caught him and pulled him back into his lap. Jaskier's head fell bonelessly against the Witcher's chest, and Geralt pressed a light touch against his sweat-soaked forehead.

"I think I'm ill." Jaskier's voice was horse and spent. His skin was so pale it was almost grey.

"Are you also prone to understatement?" Geralt asked, but there was none of the typical harshness there. He moved his hand from Jaskier's forehead to the back of his neck. "You're warm. Did I not tell you that the pheasant you cooked was still raw at the bone?"

Geralt regretted his question as the bard further paled, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth and closing his eyes. "If it was the food why aren't you sick?" He asked, not opening his eyes. 

"Witcher constitution," Geralt mumbled, still smoothing little circles across Jaskier's stomach almost subconsciously as the bard leaned into him. "Takes a lot to take me down. Do you think you're done trying to turn yourself inside out for now?"

Jaskier didn't look much better but he nodded and tried to rise. His legs wobbled beneath him and Geralt caught him and kept him upright. "Let's get you laying down before you fall down, then." He didn't pick Jaskier up even though he could have with little effort; he wanted to afford the man some modicum of dignity. 

"You didn't tell me you were feeling ill," he said, once they were both back. Jaskier didn't answer and his eyes drifted closed. Geralt guessed the conversation could wait until later, when he could properly scold Jaskier for hiding the fact that he was unwell. "Don't sleep yet, I need to get some water in you first."

Jaskier shook his head again. "Probably just throw it back up."

"And then you'll drink again." Geralt pressed the cantiene against Jaskier's lips, helping him to sit up, and when he felt like he'd gotten an appropriate amount of fluid into the bard he capped it off and let him lay down again.

"Sleep," he said, "and get well. I'll be here if you need me." He set to rifling through his bag, looking for herbs to make a soothing tea and watching the rise and fall of Jaskier's chest as Jaskier slept on fitfully.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt found the proper herbs he was looking for in his satchel, perhaps a bit stale but maybe of at least some comfort. He rekindled the fire with the thought that it was going to be a long night and then tied their kettle over it, heating water from the stream they'd set up nearby. Jaskier was tossing and turning in his sleep, struggling to fight off the extra blanket that Geralt had tucked over him and then shivering in the night air. His face was stark white except for two points of flush high on his cheeks from his growing fever. 

The water was coming to a boil as Jaskier shot awake again, fighting to get away from his bedroll but making it no further than to turn and vomit to the side, entire body trembling. Geralt made a low noise of sympathy in his throat and moved to his side again, leaving the tea to steep for a moment. Jaskier, still hunched over and trembling, reached out a hand towards Geralt and Geralt caught it, giving it a little squeeze of comfort. He vaguely remembered a pressure point that was meant to relieve nausea and he tried to find it on Jaskier, somewhere just below the pulse point of his wrist. Whether it helped or whether the bout was over Geralt wasn't sure, but Jaskier let himself collapse back down onto the bedroll. Geralt found a cloth and dipped it into the cool water of the stream, wringing it out and bringing it back to Jaskier.

"Will you sit up for me?" He asked.

"Don't want to," jaskier mumbled, his voice wrecked, but he sat up anyways, watching the Witcher with fever-bright eyes that didn't quite properly track anything. Geralt lay the cloth across the back of Jaskier's neck and then sat down behind him, giving him something to prop himself up on. It was almost alarming how quickly Jaskier had gone from walking alongside him to barely even able to hold his own head up. Geralt figured he would take off for a healer if Jaskier wasn't looking any better by morning's light, but there was no use trying to travel in the dark.

"I made you tea," Geralt said, producing the cup. "Spearmint and a few other things. Should help settle your stomach. Get some fluids in you at least." 

Jaskier took the cup and pulled it in close to him as if trying to absorb the warmth. Geralt could feel the heat radiating off of him and wondered how he could possibly be feeling cold. 

"Just little sips. Don't throw up on me."

He was almost hoping for a snarky answer back by then, something to let him know Jaskier would be alright. What he got was a little nod and Jaskier taking a microscopic sip of the tea as if to test his body's reaction and then a slightly larger one.

"I'm sorry," jaskier said, almost letting the cup fall. Geralt caught it for him and righted it before it spilled.

"Sorry for what?"

"All of it. Slowing you down. Making you take care of me."

"Hmm." Geralt pressed the cup towards Jaskier's lips and Jaskier took another sip. "You couldn't make me do anything if you tried. I'm taking care of you because-

I love you, he thought. I want you to be okay, he thought. You're worrying me, he thought. He let his words trail off.

Jaskier always knew what he meant.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Jaskier woke up it was with tears in his eyes and his breath hitching, coughing out a "fuck, Geralt, it hurts, make it stop, please." 

"Your stomach?" Geralt asked, though he didn't need to with the way that Jaskier was curled around himself, fists balled up and pressed into his middle. Apparently with nothing left to toss out his stomach had taken to cramping into knots around its self. Geralt had gone from worry to some sort of gnawing panic that clawed at his own insides like an animal.

"Come here." He helped Jaskier lay down in his arms again, hoping a change of position might help, and started rubbing the knotted, spent muscles of Jaskier's abdomen. He felt helpless. Monsters, he could do. His own wounds, he could patch up. Fever and sickness were another thing. Human weakness was another thing.

"Can you do the thing you did earlier?" Jaskier mumbled, face pressed into Geralt's chest.

"Mmm?"

"You did something to my arm and it made the sick stop, for a moment."

Geralt found the pressure point again with the hand not over Jaskier's stomach, glad to have some sense of control in the situation.

"Go back to sleep, Jaskier." He said when he noticed the bard's eyes growing heavy again. "I'll still look after you."

Somehow Geralt's ministrations lulled Jaskier and he fell asleep, entire body curled up in the Witcher's lap. 

At some point Geralt drifted off as well, and the next time he awoke it was to the morning sun. His heart stopped for a moment before he realized that Jaskier was alright, looking wan and more sick than he'd ever seen him but still breathing, the most important. 

"Feeling any better?" Geralt asked, running the pad of his thumb over Jaskier's cheek. He was almost certain he'd never committed a gesture so tender before, not to any lover or friend. 

"A bit, I think." Jaskier sounded exhausted. "Feel pretty weak. Stomach still aches but not as nauseous. Not sure I'm up for much travelling today."

"You spent the entire night trying to rid yourself of your internal organs and you think I'd make you travel?" And then, as if to prove again that he was going soft, he pressed his lips against Jaskier's forehead, testing for a fever that way. "You're still too warm."

The slightest smile crept across Jaskier's lips at the gesture. It still looked too pale, too thin. Geralt brought some cold, clear water to his lips and Jaskier sipped at it.

"Geralt?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"I told you it takes a lot to make me ill."

"Not like that. You look... haunted."

Humans lived for so much less time than witchers. This human in particular always seemed to be getting tied up in messes. Just traveling with Geralt was a mess waiting to happen. It was terrifying. Geralt pushed it aside. Jaskier was fine, he was probably over the worst of it and he'd be on the mend and any further worry was useless, especially in the situation at hand.

"Don't worry about me, focus on feeling better, bard." And he pulled Jaskier closer to him, and he thought, this time he is okay. This time he will be well. And he let his own body relax.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new fandom than I usually wrote in but the witcher has grabbed me and won't let go. Hope you all enjoy the whump and softness.


End file.
